


Save A Dance?

by kayelem



Series: The Rebel Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4469216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayelem/pseuds/kayelem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Inquisition attends the ball at Halamshiral.</p><p>[PART TWO ADDED]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the follow up to _Would You Mind?_
> 
> It might end up with another part. I haven't fully decided yet.

**Save A Dance?**

**.**

**.**

Unlike many Fereldens, Cullen couldn’t have cared about Orlais one way or another. Before joining the Inquisition, the empire that neighbored his homeland was of little concern as Templars had no real political agendas outside of their Circles. However, never in his life did Cullen think that he would be standing in the opulent elegance of the Winter Palace all so that the Inquisition could  _save_ Orlais. And what Cullen very quickly realized he could do without were the  _Orlesians_.

Honestly, Cullen couldn’t begin to understand these people, the airs they put on that fit them like a well-worn cloak, the masks that were meant to hide more than faces. Not to mention The Game – political and personal gambits all played within hidden smiles and quiet murmurs, where something as simple as what color someone wore could be interpreted a thousand different ways, leading to even more conclusions and possible weaknesses.

The whole thing was absolutely exhausting.

Cullen sighed, tugging at the color of his dress uniform and to say that he was uncomfortable would have been an understatement. The press of the crowd in the vestibule made him feel acutely claustrophobic, especially since he had practically been violated on his way through all the people. He found himself wishing for the familiar weight of his armor, a hard, tangible barrier between him and all the people. He tried not to show how anxious he felt being surrounded by so many people, all of them strangers, all of them hiding daggers in their smiles, their predatory gazes like a physical weight as they looked at him.

 _Maker help me,_ he thought, pulling down the front of the uniform.  _I should have had this jacket let out._

“Commander!”

Cullen turned, his gaze focusing on Vivienne as she artfully moved through the crowd toward him, the gold skirt of her dress floating out around her, the bright metallic color a stark, yet stunning, contrast against her dark skin. Seeing her like this, Cullen had no doubt that the former Arcane Advisor was entirely in her element. He almost envied that Vivienne was so at ease here.

“Why ever are you still out here, my dear?”

“I’m waiting for the Inquisitor,” he told her. Cullen wanted to catch her before she entered the viper’s nest. He had planned to inform her of their troops’ positions within and without the palace walls, and assure her that they would all be ready at her order. He had also wanted to warn her that, from what he had been overhearing, Beau’s reputation as “The Rebel Trevelyan” already preceded her, even in Orlais.

“I see,” Vivienne cooed, her full lips working into smile. And was it just him, or was there something shining in her dark eyes? “I’m sure our dear Inquisitor is on her way, I wouldn’t worry too much, darling. For the moment, however, you’re needed in the ballroom as they’re preparing to announce us.”

“Without the Inquisitor?”

“Without the Grand Duke as well, I think you’ll note,” the mage replied. “Come now, poor Josephine is worrying herself into a panic, and Empress Celene doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Cullen rolled his neck, sighing when the joints gave a satisfying crack before he followed after Vivienne. But that relief immediately drained from him as they crossed the threshold into the ballroom. Maker, there were so many people and the idea that he would be among them, adrift amid the sea of silk skirts and glided masks made him feel short of breath. More than anything Cullen found himself wishing Beau was there beside him because she would have seen his deep, shuddering breath for what it was. She had become utterly unwavering in her friendship toward him, a sturdy pillar for Cullen to lean on, and always fiercely concerned about what he wanted.

_This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition, Cullen. Is this what **you**  want? The last thing I want is for you to feel like you’re being used again._

And he had so very nearly ruined it. Cullen still didn’t know what he had been thinking the day Beau had asked him to help her with the back of her dress. He had skipped three of their chess games before he had regained his dignity enough to join her again. To his infinite relief, the Inquisitor seemed content to leave the matter be, which comforted him greatly because the last thing he wanted was to lose her friendship or respect. Though in the weeks that had followed there were times when Cullen had caught Beau watching him, her gaze lingering on him as though she were trying to work out a particularly difficult puzzle.

Cullen tried not to cringe when the court crier hollered out his name, wondering  _why_  exactly Josephine felt the need to give the man his full name. No one had called Cullen by his full name since before he left for training, even if Mia had written it in letters when she was particularly angry with him. He crossed the dance floor hearing the crier introduce Beau’s party members, and if Cullen thought his full name was embarrassing, it was nothing compared to Cassandra “Get On With It” Pentaghast.

“Finally, Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons,” the crier continued, and Cullen glanced over his shoulder as the Duke descended to cross the ballroom. “Accompanying him, Lady Inquisitor Isabeau Analiese Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick.”

Cullen heard someone gasp, and the quiet murmuring of the ballroom seemed to crescendo around him. His eyebrows arched up when he turned and found Beau crossing the ballroom with confident, languid abandon, each sway of her narrow hips moving aside the slit in her skirt that came up dangerously high on her left thigh. Her dress was the color of red wine, embroidered in gold and Cullen thought that it suited her much more than the white dress Josephine had originally picked out for her. And where every other woman in the room could have hidden two full grown men underneath their skirts, Beau’s dress hugged her svelte figure, flaring out slightly at her knees. But perhaps what everyone was staring at was the fact that Beau’s dress only had one shoulder, asymmetrically laying across her chest, with only one long sleeve, leaving her opposite arm and shoulder entirely bare.

If she were nervous, Beau didn’t show it as she came to a stop beside Gaspard, arching out her arm and artfully executing a low bow to Celene.

.

.

Beau found him some time later, swaying toward him with a smile as the crowd seemed to part for her without thought. Even here, entirely out of her element and surrounded by nobles who would love nothing more than to bring her down a few pegs, Beau’s presence commanded attention and authority. It made him proud to know that this was the woman that he had helped choose to be their Inquisitor.

She was just a few feet from him when a nobleman stepped into her path. Cullen’s chest felt tight with some unnamed emotion as he watched the interaction because, from the man’s body language, it was not difficult to determine what he wanted from her. He watched Beau give a polite refusal and move to go around him when the man’s hand grabbed her arm. Cullen’s jaw tensed, he felt the crescents of his nails biting into his palms as he saw Beau’s mouth press into a narrow line and her eyes take on an intensity he’d only ever seen in battle. But just as Cullen was moving to assist her, the man released her and walked away.

Beau took a moment, breathed a heavy sigh and then suddenly it was as if the whole encounter hadn’t happened. Her eyes sought him out once again, and her pink lips stretched into a smile as she approached him.

“Josephine’s not around here, is she?” Beau wondered as she leaned against the high table he’d been occupying.

He wanted, desperately, to ask her about the man, but refrained. “No, I don’t believe so, why?”

She rolled her eyes, adjusting the gold ring in her nose with her index finger. “I think she’s going to follow me around for the entire ball! I swear I haven’t been able to speak to anyone without her appearing. I think she’s worried I’m going to embarrass myself, but I think I’ve done well so far, and the dress worked perfectly!”

_The dress worked perfectly?_

“What do you mean?” Cullen asked, feeling his eyebrows press together.

Beau’s expression lit up, mischief lighting her eyes as a secret smile crept its way across her face, and scrunched the tattoo around her eye. “I’m sure you recall that Josephine wasn’t too thrilled when I demanded that we find another dress for me. Well, I thought it was high time I took Vivienne up on her offer of taking me to see  _her_  seamstress in Val Royeaux. Being  _Andraste’s Herald_ , they were going to expect the  Inquisition to truss me up like Andraste, so I suggested we go in the opposite direction,” she explained, clearly pleased with herself.  “We used what they would expect from us to our advantage, threw the court off balance a little.”

“Of course,” he answered with a fair amount of sarcasm. “You’ve only just left yourself incredibly open to a dagger.”

At that, Beau laughed, bringing up her left arm and anchoring her elbow on the table between them. “See this?” she asked him, pointing to the intricate piece of jewelry she wore there, meant to draw even more attention to the unearthly green flickering beneath her skin. It was gilded in gold with a ring secured around her middle finger, where it spider-webbed down the back of her hand like a metal golve in a complicated curling design, inlaid with diamonds and pearls, and finally clasped around her wrist.  

“Dagna,” Beau supplied, turning over her wrist to reveal the rune of protection that had been etched into the metal. “Anyone willing to test her enchantments is more than welcome to  _try_.”

Cullen felt himself grin at her. However frustrated he could become with her, there was no denying that Beau was brilliant.

Cullen wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful, wanted to be bold enough to brush away the strand of hair that had come loose from the elaborate up-do that left her elegant neck exposed. He was certain that any number of people had already lavished Beau with compliments, and all he would do is stumble over his words as usual. No matter how Cullen planned it out, there was apparently a disconnect somewhere between his mind and his mouth that left his statements a jumbled, embarrassing mess.

And so he didn’t, contenting himself instead with watching Beau smile absently as she observed the bustle of the party around them. He found himself distracted by the lines of her collarbones, the way they shifted beneath her skin as she moved. It was hauntingly familiar to the feeling he’d had that day in her quarters. Cullen wanted to reach out, run his fingertips along where they winged out and curved into her shoulders…

She turned back toward him suddenly, thankfully breaking the spell before Cullen did something unforgivable. Beau hunched her shoulders nearer to him as her eyes darted around them. “Who are all these people, by the way? They don’t seem too thrilled to see me standing here with you.”

He nearly groaned. With Beau so near to him, and him so attuned to her, Cullen had almost forgotten about them.  _Almost._

“I have no idea,” he admitted, “but they won’t leave me alone.”

What Cullen didn’t tell her was that the small crowd of admirers he had gained set his teeth on edge. He’d shut down around them, being only as polite as required, needing to remind himself constantly that they were  _people_ ,  _not demons_. But still, they elicited the same reaction. The predatory purrs in their voices set his hair on end, the burning desire in their eyes made sweat bead at his hairline. He felt the constant, cloying need to  _flee_ , to be as far away from them as humanly possible, and once again found himself wishing for his armor as a barrier.

“You’re not enjoying the attention?”

“ _Hardly_ ,” Cullen scoffed. And he had wanted to explain it to her, but he couldn’t, unable to smother the idea that Beau might think less of him for it, even though he  _knew_  she never would. Why would she, when she had listened to him tell her about his withdrawal, about what happened at Kinloch Hold and the Gallows with nothing but understanding in her eyes?

“Well,” Beau continued seeming to pick up on his discomfort with the topic, “it seems that I have a need to get into the library here pretty soon, though I admit I have no idea how I’m going accomplish that considering the lock on the door made a mockery of my lock-picks.”

“… You have  _lock-picks_  hidden somewhere in that dress?” he wondered, incredulous.

Beau smirked, arched an eyebrow at him. “You’d be surprised what I could fit in this dress, Commander,” she teased lightly, then burst out laughing a moment later when his blush betrayed him. ”Anyway, I should go before Josie comes hunting for me, but I hope you’ll save a dance for me?”  

He answered without thought, a short, diplomatic, “No. Thank you.”

It took him a moment to register the shock that widened Beau’s eyes, and shamed him a moment later when he saw the hurt. But it was gone nearly as quickly as it appeared as Beau turned her nose up at him, and replied, “Well then. Your loss, Commander.”

“What? No! That’s not what I… I hadn’t meant –“ Cullen stammered, realized quickly that he was making an even bigger fool of himself and tried again. “Maker’s Breath. I’ve answered that question so many times, I’ve started rejecting it automatically,” he sighed. “I’m not one for dancing. The Templars never attended balls.”

To his surprise, Beau chuckled. “Cullen, it’s fine, really. I’m sure I can get Bull to dance with me at least once – give these nobles something to  _really_ talk about,” she said, throwing in a wink that made his ears feel hot.

Cullen recognized it for what it was – an attempt at deflection with humor. He cursed himself as Beau walked away because she must think that he found her abhorrent when, in fact, that exact opposite was true.


	2. PART II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inquisitor dances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two! 
> 
> I kept the basic feel of the romance cut scene, but had to change it because Beau and Cullen STILL aren't together at this point. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**PART TWO**

 

.

.

.

 

“Are you married, Commander?”

Cullen couldn’t help the quiet sigh that slipped past his teeth, wondering just how much longer this ridiculous ball was going to continue. He had just about reached the limits of his patience with his crowd of admirers that seemed to shrink and then grow, and shrink again like high and low tide. And as the night wore on, Cullen became increasingly relieved that he had forgone indulging himself in drink as the rest of the ball-goers because the drunker his admirers became… the more their hands wandered.

It was… uncomfortably tolerable at first, a hand on his arm as someone laughed, resting on his shoulder to get his attention. Then as the hours wiled away, and the drinks went down faster, the small gestures became increasingly more bold. A hand caressing down his back, a brush against his backside with a giggled apology, hands that no longer rested but _gripped_ , rumpling the fabric of his jacket between clenching fingers and Cullen having to remind himself more and more often –

_People. Not demons._

_People._

_Not. Demons._

He had to tell himself that the glint he saw behind a mask was not the glow of a demon’s otherworldly eye, but the way the light had reflected. He to remind himself that no matter much it felt like it, there were no claws at the end of the fingers that reached for him. But no matter how much Cullen told himself that the amorous crowd around him meant him no real harm, and that they had no idea how their advances trigged panic, he could not quite make himself believe that he was _safe._

“No, I’m –“ Cullen cut himself off as he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, and then: “—seeing someone.”

Cullen wasn’t sure what made him say it, but he had noticed Beau easing her way through the people toward him and the words just… tumbled out of his mouth. He had intended to say that he was married to his work, but something had tugged at his mind telling him in those few seconds that they would only leave him be if he were already taken.

“Still single, then?”

_Or not_.

Cullen ignored the question, turning toward Beau as she came to a stop. An annoyed expression was painted across her features, her lips tight with hiding a frown as she looked at the people still surrounding him. He hadn’t seen her for a few hours and he wondered what exactly she had discovered to make her unable to mask the displeasure on her face.

“… Would you care to take a turn about the room with me, Commander?” she asked, her tone polite though rigid.

_Maker, yes!_ He thought, but one of his many admirers butted in before he could answer with a hand lightly on his shoulder. “You’re not really going to deprive us of the dear Commander’s presence, are you Lady Inquisitor?”

Beau’s eyes darted to the hand that had come to rest on his shoulder, her eyes narrowing into a fierce glare as they came back to the woman trying to drape herself over him. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to _insist_ ,” Beau answered, her voice having lost all its charm and light, sounding more like a threat than anything else.

Then Beau eased her hand through the crook of his arm, moving to pull away when she felt him tense, but Cullen laid his opposite hand on hers, squeezing her fingers against his forearm as he fell into step beside her. They were silent as they rounded the far end of the ballroom, but Cullen found that her presence beside him had eased some of the tension he’d been feeling. He breathed a little easier despite the crushing press of the crowd and his heart didn’t beat such a terrible, panicked cadence against his ribs.

“I’m sorry,” Beau blurted without preamble, her hand turning to grip his bicep, “I didn’t even occur to me what it would be like for you to have all those people…”

Cullen knew that he couldn’t mask the shock that flashed across his face as his head whipped around to look at her. _How did she know?_ He wondered. Was Beau really so attuned to him that it had been so obvious?

Beau glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I found Cole,” she said by way of explanation.

_Ah._

Cole must have been able to sense Cullen’s distress and discomfort, and as was his habit, shared it with Beau when she found him.

“I’m so sorry, Cullen, I should have known when we spoke earlier how uncomfortable you were. I should’ve stayed or sent someone else to keep you company…” Beau continued, the look on her face growing more distressed as she spoke.

_Maker, what have I done to deserve her friendship?_ He thought. Cullen laid his hand on hers, trying his best to bring a confident smile to his lips. “It’s all right,” he assured her. “ _I’m_ all right.”

Beau nodded, took a deep breath to calm herself and Cullen took the opportunity to change the topic. “You said you ‘found’ Cole? I didn’t realize he was missing.”

She chuckled as they passed the threshold into the vestibule. “Suspiciously absent is more like it,” she replied.

“Where was he?”

“The library, of course.”

“Of course,” Cullen echoed. “How did you manage to get in?”

At his question Beau became rather… cagey. Her gaze darted up and away from him. “Well… I… _may_ have climbed the trellis in the garden…”

“You did _what?_ ” he hissed.

“Shhh! Please don’t tell Josephine!” she whispered in a panic, her face paling. Not that Cullen blamed her. He could only have imagined the Ambassador’s outraged ire if she were to find out. Though it might have been worth it to see Beau scolded like she were a naughty child.

“How did no one see you? I think I would have heard about this at some point.”

“Ah, about that,” she began, “let’s just say: I owe Dorian a few casks of a _very_ expensive, _very_ rare vintage.”

And Cullen was certain that he didn’t want to know, but still found his mouth forming the words to his next inquiry. “What… what did he do?”

Beau shook her head gently, and there was look in her eye that told him whatever it was that Dorian had done to cause a diversion for her was something that she was never going to be able to forget. “It was…”Beau started. Her free hand came up and covered her mouth, though Cullen still heard the small chuckle that slipped through her fingers. “I can’t…” she continued, then finished, “I just… I’m sure Dorian has hidden away somewhere, drinking himself to blackout, cursing my name right now.”

“It was that bad?”

Beau shook her head again, her mouth parting into a full grin. “No,” she laughed, “it worked that well.”

 

.

.

.

 

After Beau reluctantly returned him to his group of admirers, Cullen didn’t talk to her again until the very end of the night. Though she did seem to decide to remedy her “mistake” of leaving him alone because Cassandra found him a few minutes later, and then Blackwall after her, and then Varric for a while after that. Cullen felt a warm rush of affection toward Beau, knowing that of all the things she had to worry about tonight, she had still taken the time to be worried for him. He was not left alone to the masses for the rest of the night, and the hands that grabbed, and the voices that whispered ebbed until they were nothing more than nuisances.

The rest of the ball passed with little excitement, though Cullen did catch bits and pieces of passing conversations that mentioned “that Tevinter mage” in various outraged and scandalized tones, and he had to stop himself from following after the people speaking, reigning in his eager curiosity. Josephine had marched by him once, her face flushed in annoyance as she asked him if he had seen Dorian anywhere because she “most certainly had a few words for him” and when Cullen had ventured to ask what the mage had done the blush drained from the Ambassador’s cheeks before she adamantly refused to tell him. It seemed that Cullen would simply have to ask Dorian himself what had transpired in the palace garden.

Beau did indeed end up having a dance with the Iron Bull who was surprisingly light on his feet despite his ungainly size. The Bull seemed to attack the steps of the dance with the same enthusiasm he greeted a fight, and Cullen felt that same tightness in his chest as he watched the qunari twirling their delighted Inquisitor around the dance floor, completely unaware of the nobles hissing under their breaths. And even if they did hear, Cullen wasn’t entirely certain either of them would have cared. Beau did say that she wanted to give them something to talk about, after all.

Then came a dance with Duchess Florianne, and whatever approval Beau might have lost was regained as she smoothly led the Duchess through the steps. The other dancers vacated the dance floor, leaving the Inquisitor and the Duchess at the center of the ballroom’s attention. It was strange, Cullen thought, that Florianne and Beau seemed so in sync during the dance, never a stumble or misstep, and yet the two women had never met before.

But nothing could have prepared him for the aggravation and disappointment on Beau's face when she came off the dance floor met by Josephine, Leliana, and himself and it was suggested that the best course of action might just be to remove Celene from the picture.

"I'm here to _stop_ an assassination, not facilitate one!" Beau snapped, her glare darting between himself and Leliana. He had to look away when he felt her eyes linger on him, unable to handle the sudden weight of her displeasure. And then with a shake of her head, Beau disappeared into the crowd.

.

.

.

Cullen found Beau sitting on the balcony railing, legs dangling into the garden below, her back to the celebration and he nearly laughed knowing that Josephine probably would have had a few choice words about her propriety. She had saved Orlais, saved Empress Celene and had somehow managed to make the three people vying for power agree to work together. Her name, and the Inquisition, was being lauded and celebrated, yet Beau seemed to want no part of it.

He watched her a moment before he approached, watched as she breathed a deep sigh and reached up before she began the tedious task of removing the glided pins holding her hair in its complicated arrangement. The moonlight turned her hair to a shining silver, and Cullen admired the careful way her fingers kneaded through the piles of hair, the stretch of her arms, and how all at once the freed tresses tumbled past her shoulders in kinks and waves.

“Cullen, I know you’re there,” Beau said suddenly, turning to look over her shoulder.

Despite the flush he could feel at having been caught, Cullen smiled as he came up beside her, leaning against the rail. “Everyone’s been looking for you,” he told her. “Things have finally calmed down… at least for the moment. Are you alright?”

“I’m just… exhausted,” she admitted at length. “Tonight was too damn long.”

Cullen couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. “I’m sure all of us feel the same, but at least it’s over now…” he trailed off, unsure how to continue, but the next words seemed to leave his tongue without his conscious permission. “You know… I was worried for you tonight.”

Beau barked out a laugh, the sudden movement of it causing a curtain of hair to fall between them, shielding her from him. “Yes, well… I was worried about myself too for a little bit,” she sighed. “I’m still not certain I did right thing.”

“But you got them to cooperate, work together for the good of the empire,” Cullen reminded her, needing her to see that she had done not just something good, but something that no one had believed was possible.

“Yes,” she conceded, “but I blackmailed the three of them into it; it was so terribly _Orlesian_. The things the three of them did to try and get ahead…” Beau shook her head with a disgusted snort. “I couldn’t think of a better punishment than _forcing_ them to work together.”

Cullen had intended to try and cheer her up, but he quickly realized that trying to convince her that she had done the right thing was not the way to go about it. Beau didn’t want words or reassurances, and Cullen knew that any more he gave would be met with acerbic replies. He could never know how heavy the weight of being Inquisitor was for Beau to carry, Cullen just wanted her know that he was willing to share her burdens and ease her doubts if she would allow him.

_Because she has done the same for me._

When he heard the tempo of the music change, Cullen knew exactly how he could make her smile.

He pushed himself away from the railing, cleared his throat to get her attention and said, “May I have this dance, Lady Trevelyan?”

Beau turned to face him, swinging her legs back around, one eyebrow arched high as she looked at his outstretched hand. “… I thought Templars didn’t dance?”

“Well. They don’t, but I’m no longer a Templar, am I?”

And there it was, the smile breaking across Beau’s face chased away the shadows lurking behind her eyes and smoothing the lines at the corners of her lips. Cullen felt a sense of pride swell in his chest knowing that he had succeeded, unable to suppress his own grin in reply.

“No, I suppose you’re not,” Beau replied as she slid off the railing and slipped her hand into his.

He felt his heart beating fast and steady behind the caging of his ribs when Beau stepped into his arms, and her hand came to rest on his shoulder. And Cullen quietly admitted to himself that he might have been in over his head as he laid a slightly trembling hand along the curve of her waist. It was the gentle way Beau smiled at him, her unspoken gratitude that swelled into the small space between them that eased his nerves as he took the first step and –

“Ouch!”

“Oh! I-I’m sorry.”

 


End file.
